Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  The royal wedding, of course, took place in the Hall of the Rivan King, and everyone was there. King Rhodar was in crimson, King Anheg in blue. King Fulrach wore brown, and King Cho-Hag the customary Algar black. Brand, the Rivan Warder, his face made even more somber by the death of his youngest son, was dressed in Rivan gray. There were other royal visitors as well. Ran Borune XXIII in his goldcolored mantle was strangely jovial as he bantered with the shavenheaded Sadi. Oddly enough, the two of them got on well together. The possibilities of the new situation in the west appealed to them both, and they were obviously moving toward an accommodation of some sort. King Korodullin wore royal purple and stood about with the other kings - although he spoke but little. The blow to his head during the battle of Thull Mardu had affected his hearing, and the young king of Arendia was obviously uncomfortable in company.

  In the very center of the gathered monarchs stood King Drosta lek Thun of Gar og Nadrak, wearing a curiously unattractive yellow doublet. The nervous, emaciated king of the Nadrak's spoke in short little bursts, and when he laughed, there was a shrill quality in his voice. King Drosta made many arrangements that afternoon - some of which he even intended to honor.

  Belgarion of Riva, of course, did not participate in those discussions - which was probably just as well. The Rivan King's mind was a trifle distracted at that moment. Dressed all in blue, he paced nervously in a nearby antechamber where he and Lelldorin awaited the fanfare which was to summon them into the great hall.

  "I wish this was all over," he said for the sixth time.

  "Just be patient, Garion," Lelldorin advised him again.

  "What are they doing out there?"

  "Probably waiting for word that her Highness is ready. At this particular time, she's far more important than you are. That's the way weddings are, you know."

  "You're the lucky one. You and Ariana just ran off and got married without all this fuss."

  Lelldorin laughed ruefully. "I didn't really escape it, Garion," he said, "just postponed it for a while. All the preparations here have inflamed my Ariana. As soon as we return to Arendia, she wants us to have a proper wedding."

  "What is it about weddings that does such strange things to the female mind?"

  "Who can say?" Lelldorin shrugged. "A woman's mind is a mystery - as you'll soon discover."

  Garion gave him a sour look and adjusted his crown once again. "I wish it were all over," he said again.

  In time the fanfare echoed through the Hall of the Rivan King, the door opened, and, trembling visibly, Garion adjusted his crown one last time and marched out to meet his fate. Although he knew most of the people in the hall, the faces around him were all a blur as he and Lelldorin walked past the peat fires glowing in the pits in the floor toward the throne where his great sword once more hung in its proper place with the Orb of Aldur glowing on its pommel.

  The hall was hung with buntings and banners, and there was a vast profusion of spring flowers. The wedding guests, in silks, satins, and brightly colored brocades, seemed themselves almost like some flower garden as they twisted and strained to watch the entrance of the royal bridegroom.

  Awaiting him before the throne stood the white-robed old Gorim of Ulgo, a smile on his gentle face.

  "Greetings, Belgarion," the Gorim murmured as Garion mounted the steps.

  "Holy Gorim," Garion replied with a nervous bow.

  "Be tranquil, my son," the Gorim advised, noting Garion's shaking hands.

  "I'm trying, Holy One."

  The brazen horns sounded yet another fanfare, and the door at the back of the hall swung wide. The Imperial Princess Ce'Nedra, dressed in her creamy, pearl-studded wedding gown, stood in the doorway with her cousin Xera at her side. She was stunning. Her flaming hair streamed down across one shoulder of her gown, and she wore the varicolored golden circlet of which she had always been so fond. Her face was demure, and a delicate little blush colored her cheeks. She kept her eyes downcast, although once she flickered a quick glance at Garion, and he saw the little twinkle that lurked behind her thick lashes. He knew then with absolute certainty that all that demure modesty was a pose. She stood long enough to allow all to look their fill at her perfection before, accompanied by the sound of gently cascading harps, she came down the aisle to meet her quivering bridegroom. In a ceremony Garion thought just a trifle overdone, Barak's two little daughters preceded the bride, strewing her path with flowers.

  When she reached the dais, Ce'Nedra rather impulsively kissed the kindly old Gorim's cheek and then took her place at Garion's side. There was a fragrance about her that was strangely flowerlike - a fragrance that for some reason made Garion's knees tremble.

  The Gorim looked out at the assemblage and began to speak.

  "We are gathered today," he began, "to witness the last unraveling of the Prophecy which has guided all our lives through the deadliest of peril and brought us safely to this happy moment. As foretold, the Rivan King has returned. He has met our ancient foe and he has prevailed. His reward stands radiant at his side."

  Reward? Garion had not considered it in precisely that light before. He thought about it a bit as the Gorim continued, but it didn't really help all that much. He felt a sharp little nudge in his ribs.

  "Pay attention," Ce'Nedra whispered.

  It got down to the questions and answers shortly after that. Garion's voice cracked slightly, but that was only to be expected. Ce'Nedra's voice, however, was clear and firm. Couldn't she at least pretend to be nervous just a little?

  The rings which they exchanged were carried on a small velvet cushion by Errand. The child took his duties quite seriously, but even on his small face there was that slightly amused look. Garion resented that. Was everyone secretly laughing at him?

  The ceremony concluded with the Gorim's benediction, which Garion did not hear. The Orb of Aldur, glowing with an insufferable smugness, filled his ears with its song of jubilation during the Gorim's blessing, adding its own peculiar congratulations.

  Ce'Nedra had turned to him. "Well?" she whispered.

  "Well what?" he whispered back.

  "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

  "Here? In front of everybody?"

  "It's customary."

  "It's a stupid custom."

  "Just do it, Garion," she said with a warm little smile of encouragement. "We can discuss it later."

  Garion tried for a certain dignity in the kiss - a kind of chaste formality in keeping with the general tone of the occasion. Ce'Nedra, however, would have none of that. She threw herself into the business with an enthusiasm which Garion found slightly alarming. Her arms locked about his neck and her lips were glued to his. He irrationally wondered just how far she intended to go with this. His knees were already beginning to buckle.

  The cheer which resounded through the hall saved him. The trouble with kissing in public was that one was never sure just how long one should keep it up. If it were too short, people might suspect a lack of regard; if it were too long, they might begin to snicker. Grinning rather foolishly, Belgarion of Riva turned to face the wedding guests.

  The wedding ball and the supper which was part of it immediately followed the ceremony. Chatting gaily, the wedding guests trooped through a long corridor to a brightly decorated hall which had been converted into a grand ballroom ablaze with candles. The orchestra was composed of Rivan musicians under the direction of a fussy Arendish concertmaster, who strove mightily to keep the independent Rivans from improvising on those melodies which pleased them.

  This was the part Garion had dreaded the most. The first dance was to be a solo affair featuring the royal couple. He was expected to march Ce'Nedra to the center of the floor and perform in public. With a sudden horror, he realized - even as he and his radiant bride went to the center of the room - that he had forgotten everything Lelldorin had taught him.

  The dance which was popular at that particular season in the courts of the south was graceful and quite intricate. The partners were to
face in the same direction, the man behind and slightly to one side of the woman. Their arms were supposed to be extended and their hands joined. Garion managed that part without too much trouble. It was all those quick, tiny little steps in time to the music that had him worried.

  In spite of everything, though, he did quite well. The fragrance of Ce'Nedra's hair, however, continued to work on him, and he noted that his hands trembled visibly as the two of them danced. At the end of the first melody, the wedding guests applauded enthusiastically; as the orchestra took up the second tune, they all joined in, and the floor was filled with whirling colors as the dance became general.

  "I guess we didn't do too badly," Garion murmured.

  "We were just fine," Ce'Nedra assured him.

  They continued to dance.

  "Garion," she said after a few moments.

  "Yes?"

  "Do you really love me?"

  "Of course I do. What a silly thing to ask."

  "Silly?"

  "Wrong word," he amended quickly. "Sorry."

  "Garion," she said after a few more measures.

  "Yes?"

  "I love you too, you know."

  "Of course I know."

  "Of course? Aren't you taking a bit much for granted?"

  "Why are we arguing?" he asked rather plaintively.

  "We aren't arguing, Garion," she told him loftily. "We're discussing."

  "Oh," he said. "That's all right then."

  As was expected, the royal couple danced with everyone. Ce'Nedra was passed from king to king like some royal prize, and Garion escorted queens and ladies alike to the center of the floor for the obligatory few measures. Tiny blond Queen Porenn of Drasnia gave him excellent advice, as did the stately Queen Islena of Cherek. Plump little Queen Layla was motherly - even a bit giddy. Queen Silar gravely congratulated him, and Mayaserana of Arendia suggested that he'd dance better if he weren't quite so stiff. Barak's wife, Merel, dressed in rich green brocade, gave him the best advice of all.

  "You'll fight with each other, of course," she told him as they danced, "but never go to sleep angry. That was always my mistake."

  And finally Garion danced with his cousin Adara.

  "Are you happy?" he asked her.

  "More than you could ever imagine," she replied with a gentle smile.

  "Then everything worked out for the best, didn't it?"

  "Yes, Garion. It's as if it had all been fated to happen. Everything feels so right, somehow."

  "It's possible that it was fated," Garion mused. "I sometimes think we have very little control over our own lives - I know I don't."

  She smiled. "Very deep thoughts for a bridegroom on his wedding day." Then her face grew gravely serious. "Don't let Ce'Nedra drive you to distraction," she advised. "And don't always give in to her."

  "You've heard about what's been happening?"

  She nodded. "Don't take it too seriously, Garion. She's been testing you, that's all."

  "Are you trying to say that I still have to prove something?"

  "With Ce'Nedra - probably every day. I know your little princess, Garion. All she really wants is for you to prove that you love her - and don't be afraid to say it to her. I think you'll be surprised at how agreeable she'll be if you just take the trouble to tell her that you love her - frequently."

  "She knows that already."

  "But you have to tell her."

  "How often do you think I ought to say it?"

  "Oh, probably every hour or so."

  He was almost certain that she was joking.

  "I've noticed that Sendars are a reserved sort of people," she told him. "That isn't going to work with Ce'Nedra. You're going to have to put your upbringing aside and come right out and say it. It will be worth the trouble, believe me."

  "I'll try," he promised her.

  She laughed and lightly kissed his cheek. "Poor Garion," she said.

  "Why poor Garion?"

  "You still have so much to learn."

  The dance continued.

  Exhausted finally and famished by their efforts, Garion and his bride made their way to the groaning table and sat down to take their wedding supper. The supper was quite special. Two days before the wedding, Aunt Pol had calmly marched into the royal kitchen and had taken charge. As a result, everything was perfect. The smells from the heavily laden table were overwhelming. King Rhodar absolutely could not pass by without just one more nibble.

  The music and the dance continued, and Garion watched, relieved that he had escaped the floor. His eyes sought out old friends in the crowd. Barak, huge but strangely gentle, danced with Merel, his wife. They looked very good together. Lelldorin danced with Ariana, and their eyes were lost in each others' faces. Relg and Taiba did not dance, but sat together in a secluded corner. They were, Garion noted, holding hands. Relg's expression was still slightly startled, but he did not look unhappy.

  Near the center of the floor, Hettar and Adara danced with the innate grace of those who spend their lives on horseback. Hettar's hawklike face was different somehow, and Adara was flushed with happiness. Garion decided that it might be a good time to try Adara's advice. He leaned toward Ce'Nedra's pink little ear and cleared his throat. "I love you," he whispered. It was difficult the first time, so he tried it again - just to get the feel of it. "I love you," he whispered again. It was easier the second time.

  The effect on his princess was electrifying. She blushed a sudden rosy red, and her eyes went very wide and somehow defenseless. Her entire heart seemed to be in those eyes. She appeared unable to speak, but reached out instead gently to touch his face. As he returned her gaze, he was quite amazed at the change that the simple phrase had made in her. Adara, it appeared, had been right. He stored that bit of information away rather carefully, feeling more confident than he had in months.

  The hall was filled with colors as the guests danced in celebration of the royal wedding. There were, however, a few faces that did not reflect the general happiness. Near the center of the floor, Mandorallen danced with the Lady Nerina, Baroness of Vo Ebor, and their faces mirrored that tragedy which was still central to their lives. Not far from them, Silk danced with Queen Porenn. The little man's face bore once again that same bitter, self mocking expression Garian had first seen in King Anheg's palace in Val Alorn.

  Garion sighed.

  "Melancholy already, my husband?" Ce'Nedra asked him with a little twinkle. Once again, even as they sat, she ducked her head beneath his arm and drew it about her in that peculiar way of hers. She smelled very good, and he noted that she was very soft and warm.

  "I was just remembering a few things," he replied to her question.

  "Good. Try to get that all out of the way now. I wouldn't want it interfering later."

  Garion's face turned bright red, and Ce'Nedra laughed a wicked little laugh. "I think that perhaps later is not much further off," she said then. "You must dance with Lady Polgara, and I will dance with your grandfather. And then I think it will be time for us to retire. It's been a very full day."

  "I am a bit tired," Garion agreed.

  "Your day isn't over yet, Belgarion of Riva," she told him pointedly.

  Feeling a bit peculiar about it, Garion approached Aunt Pol where she and Durnik sat watching the dance. "Will you dance with me, Aunt Polgara?" he asked with a formal little bow.

  She looked at him a bit quizzically. "So you've finally admitted it," she said.

  "Admitted what?"

  "Who I really am."

  "I've known."

  "But you've never called me by my full name before, Garion," she pointed out, rising and gently smoothing back his hair. "I think it might be a rather significant step."

  They danced together in the glowing candlelight to the music of lutes and pipes. Polgara's steps were more measured and slow than the dance Lelldorin had so painstakingly taught to Garion. She had reached back, Garion realized, into the dim past, and she led him through the stately measures of a dance she
had learned centuries before, during her sojourn with the Wacite Arends. Together they moved through the slow, graceful, and somehow melancholy measures of a dance which had vanished forever some twenty-five centuries before, to live on only in Polgara's memory.

  Ce'Nedra was blushing furiously when Belgarath returned her to Garion for their last dance. The old man grinned impishly, bowed to his daughter and took her hands to lead her as well. The four of them danced not far from each other, and Garion clearly heard his Aunt's question. "Have we done well, father?"

  Belgarath's smile was quite genuine. "Why yes, Polgara," he replied. "As a matter of fact, I think we've done very well indeed."

  "Then it was all worth it, wasn't it, father?"

  "Yes, Pol, it really was."

  They danced on.

  "What did he say to you?" Garion whispered to Ce'Nedra.

  She blushed. "Never mind. Maybe I'll tell you - later."

  There was that word again.

  The dance ended, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Ce'Nedra went to her father, kissed him lightly, and then returned. "Well?" she said to Garion.

  "Well what?"

  She laughed. "Oh, you're impossible." Then she took his hand and very firmly led him from the hall.

  It was quite late - perhaps two hours past midnight. Belgarath the Sorcerer was in a whimsical mood as he wandered about the deserted halls of the Rivan Citadel with a tankard in his hand. Belgarath had done a bit of celebrating, and he was feeling decidedly mellow - though not nearly as much as many of the other wedding guests, who had already mellowed themselves into insensibility.